


Not a Weapon

by Bircjosta



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles grappling with his Humanity, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Dadchilles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, Zagreus is a baby in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bircjosta/pseuds/Bircjosta
Summary: The great poets sing of Achilles's skill as a fighter, as a piece of machinery, devoid of care, only destruction. Through the most human of gods in the house of Hades, Achilles learns that there is still some human in him after all.
Relationships: Achilles & Persephone, Achilles & Zagreus
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112





	Not a Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. I was actually working on a different fic when the words of this one Would Not Leave. I've been thinking about Achilles's relationship to Persephone and Zagreus, and came to the conclusion that he probably feels the most connected to them because they have a little bit of mortality in them. Which got me thinking about Persephone and Achilles being friends before Zagreus comes along, which is honestly such a delightful image. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this, Achilles is such an interesting character. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Content warnings: blood, difficult pregnancy, difficult birth, grief, general illusions to illness. If these upset you, please be cautious and take care of yourself.

The poets and bards sing the tales of Great Achilles. O golden, fleet – footed Achilles, who wielded spears with such ease that there were rumors that he was born with one in his hand. They sing of the rage of Achilles, who single handedly won the war for Greece, earning glory and dying a hero’s death.

Drivel, all of it.

There was no glory in it.

The bards don’t know how his insides burned with pain when he saw his beloved, bloody in the sand. Or how, when he made a run to retrieve his body as he screamed and cried, he was sick on himself as the realization closed in on him. They don’t know how he died long before the arrow hit his heel, that he died when the soldiers returned Patroclus to him, cold and lifeless. They don’t know how he turned into something inhuman as he tore down troop after troop, leaving viscera and gore in his wake.

The bards don’t know about when he arrived in the House of Hades, how all the rage, all the burning fury has died out to be replaced by a numb, deep sadness, a stillness more set than any gorgon stare. He can be glad about one thing; he saw that his Patroclus is safe and happy in Elysium.

As he looks around the West Hall, shades mingle about in little groups. Some look his way, with smiles and looks of shock or fear appear above them. Some stumble into the hall only to see him and scurry away. Achilles doesn’t have to think long about who those shades probably are. He killed so many people in Troy, sent many of them to this very house; if he ended up here and encountered his killer like they did, he would run away in fear too.

“Achilles! Are you well?”

He was broken out of his reverie by the warm voice of Persephone, smiling as she approached, hand resting on her round belly.

“Your Highness,” Achilles replied with a bow, “I should be the one asking you that. How are you faring?”

Persephone sighed, “the little one finally let me sleep a full cycle, he hasn’t tormented me with relentless kicking for once.”

Achilles chuckled, “so it’s to be a boy, then? He is already showing signs of boundless energy.”

Persephone huffed a laugh, “that means we’ll have our hands full. I – _ah_ – I wanted to ask if you would accompany me for a stroll in the garden. I’ve been so holed up in my chambers, it feels like I haven’t seen my plants in ages.”

Achilles did not miss the way her face twisted in pain, for the briefest moment.

He nodded and approached her, offering his arm, “I would be honored, my Queen.”

“Wonderful! And I’ve already said – you don’t have to use such honorifics for me, not when it’s just us,” she said as she wrapped her hands around his arm. Achilles did not miss the way she is leaning more heavily on him.

“I’ll try to remember, but I must admit that will be a tough habit to break.”

She laughed, “I’m a patient woman.”

Persephone beamed when she announced she was with child, eagerly telling any shade that would listen and talking to herself as she tried to decide a name for her baby. Like all things involving the gods, Persephone gestated quickly, the baby growing rapidly, too rapidly, perhaps. The Queen, usually so full of life in a realm of death, moved slower, and didn’t emerge from her chambers for days (or nights) at a time. His keen eyes caught the thin sheen of sweat ever present on Persephone’s brow and neck, and how she would clutch a bundle of her skirts when they spoke to work through discomforts.

“I think I finally came up with a name for him,” Persephone said eagerly as they rounded the grove of cypress trees.

“What did you choose?”

“Zagreus,” she said warmly, a smile forming on her lips.

“I think that’s a great name, it’s perfect,” Achilles agreed.

“Isn’t it? It feels special, for a very special child. I haven’t met him yet, but I already love him. Hades is excited too; I don’t think I’ve seen him smile so much or dote on me so easily.”

Achilles allowed himself a small smile. He caught glimpses of Hades fussing over his Queen, ordering people to bring chairs and ottomans for her when she helped out at his desk. His approvals of shades’ claims became more abundant, and he offered her soft words in their chambers when the day’s work was done. He saw a number of eager, nervous fathers-to-be in the soldier’s camp; they would frequently stop by the physician’s tent, asking any number of questions about making sure the mother is healthy.

“Endless blessings upon you both,” said Achilles.

“I’m excited for you to meet. You agreed to train him, didn’t you? When he’s of age?”

“Yes, Highness. This will be the first time I will be playing teacher; I must admit I’m a bit apprehensive. I’m not sure I have the gentle and guiding hands of a weapons instructor. I’m rather suited at throwing the weapons, rather than teaching someone how to use them.”

“Well, I don’t know about that; I think you will be a wonderful teacher to him and not just because of your skill in weaponry, you’re so kind and patient. You can teach him how to not just be a good fighter, but a good man, too.”

Achilles wondered if the definition of ‘good’ is different here than it is in the mortal realm, but he knew better than to dispute the word of a Queen.

“You honor me with your words, My Queen.”

“Also, I hate to be contrarian, Achilles, but I find myself disagreeing with what you said about not being gentle. Look at you right now, leading a heavily pregnant woman through a garden. Sounds pretty gentle, no?” Persephone said with a winking smile.

Achilles thought for a moment, making a sound that could legally pass for a laugh, “I suppose you’re right, thank you for giving me some encouragement.”

“Of course! And, if you find yourself doubting yourself, come find me, and I’ll be sure to remind you what a good person you a – _AH!_ ”

Persephone cried sharply and doubled over, clutching her stomach, eyes screwed in pain.

“Highness!” Achilles caught her with a secure hand before she could hit the ground. Beads of sweat sprung from her forehead, and even under her clothes, Achilles could feel her shoulder burning up.

“Highness…? Are you…”

“I…I think I should get back to the chambers now. I…I can’t—”

“Of course.”

“That should…the pains should be subsiding around now. Hopefully, I don’t have another outburst like that again. Things will get better with my child. I’m sure of it, this will pass, and soon, I’ll get to greet my son.”

“I’m sure of it, too, My Queen,” replied Achilles as he led her back to her rooms.

It does not get better.

\--

The Queen hadn’t emerged from her chambers for two weeks. Hades, who was once full of something Achilles would qualify as excitement, was now full of worry, worry and anger that he took out on the shades around him once again. His claim denials were once again constant, and he was short with all who works for him, including Nyx who, when she wasn’t in her corner, could be seen pacing around the door to Persephone’s chambers, entering and exiting frequently, worry ever more present on her features.

The harsh shriek the Queen made when she went into labor pierced the tense silence, making Achilles’s spectral heart drop. Hades all but fell out of his seat at his desk, hurrying into his room, Nyx followed soon after.

The screaming came next. Endless. Achilles winced and steeled himself against the noise. Pained, agonized screeching mixed with cries of Hades’s and Nyx’s names rung through the rafters for what felt like hours. Each new, horrid sound made Achilles’s stomach lurch, out of empathy for Persephone, yes, but his mind launched him back to the last time he heard such screams – they were spilling out of his own mouth like blood from a fresh, deep wound, cracking and drying his throat the longer he yelled.

Muffled wails of “no, no, no! I want to see him! _Let me see him!_ ” sliced through his memories. He looked up from where his gaze drifted to the floor just in time to see Nyx gliding hastily out of the room, carrying a bundle of something. Bile rose to his throat he saw the goddess’s hands, arms, and skirts, covered in blood.

_Blood_. Not golden ichor he heard the gods have. Red blood.

Which meant that…

_Oh no_.

The house erupted into mournful keening, anguished noises rang in Achilles’s nears and seeped into his bones. He wanted to cover his ears, wanted to run, wanted to do something to shield himself from the noise, from the sadness, from the pain of it all. Achilles turned his head, ever slightly into their chambers; Persephone was crumbled in on herself, weeping into Hades’s arms, who rocked her back and forth, trying his damndest to keep his tears at bay, a bitter and raw look on his face.

After a while, a heavy and thick silence fell over the house. The incorporeal shades have long since faded away, choosing to spend their time in the depths of Tartarus than the woeful halls of the house. Lord Hades excused himself long ago, not meeting anyone’s gaze as he traveled to the Administrative Chamber with Nyx. Achilles winced when he heard the loud knocking and smashing of desks and papers being strewn about, no doubt making more work for the poor shades toiling in there.

Achilles’s ears pricked when he heard soft whimpers echoing from her chambers. The grip on his spear tightened; how dare Hades leave his wife’s side like this, when she was hurting so? Before it could truly splinter, he rested his spear against the wall and made his way over to the door, left cracked open in haste when the Lord and Master left.

He entered to find the room cold and dark, smooth stone covering every surface, a departure from the opulence commanding the rest of the house. A few, small vases of fine flowers rested on an end table Achilles doubted Hades ever used, the petals brown and wilted, some strewn to the floor. Small, deep ruby blood droplets dotted the floor, growing bigger the closer they were to the bed. Achille’s heart dropped.

“Who’s there? Hades…? Hades is that you?”

Achilles’s head snapped up at the broken voice coming from the bed.

“No, My Queen. It’s…it’s Achilles.”

“Achilles…? P-please…please come closer,” Persephone croaked, voice rough with overuse and grief.

“Yes, Highness,” he replies, hoping his duty will hide the tremble in his voice. Persephone was lying on her slide, curled in closely on herself, a red-caked hand clutching her stomach. Her body was sheened with sweat and her wheat-colored hair, unfurled and tangled from its high braid, stuck to her forehead. Her eyes are red rimmed and swollen, staring off in the middle distance, tear stains still stuck to her pale cheeks.

Achilles turned the haphazardly chair knocked over by her bedside and slid in it quietly. “My Queen –”

“He…he didn’t—he couldn’t…he…his feet – the – flames on them they…they said he didn’t…that he wasn’t…” Persephone whimpered.

“My deepest condolences, My Queen.”

“I don’t…I don’t under—why did it? Why did he…? I thought that—I thought he would…Oh, Achilles you—you were going to train him, be there for him, weren’t you?” she asked, the bloody hand on her stomach clenching tighter.

“Y-yes, My Queen.”

She let out a mournful sigh, “I was…I was looking forward to—to watching you teach him. He was…he was going to shine under your tutelage…I’m sorry, Achilles, you won’t meet your student.”

Something about the way Persephone said that struck a deep chord in Achilles. When Hades first told him he was to teach his child, he thought it was ludicrous. What could he teach a child that’s useful? But with Persephone’s excitement and encouragement, Achilles allowed himself to feel mild eagerness. There were…a couple of things he would have taught him, like how to advocate for himself, and how to be kind; Achilles was sure that Persephone would be the one to teach that, but there was a chance the Lord and Master would squander her words. Achilles would be there to reinforce the Queen’s teachings. The child… _Zagreus_ …would not learn how to be a weapon, but a fully realized person.

Now…well.

Strange. His throat feels tighter.

“I am so sorry, Persephone,” he said, voice wavering, the informality foreign on his tongue.

Persephone whimpered and blinked, hot tears that formed anew fell down her cheeks, replacing the streaks that had long dried.

Achilles’s eyes drifted to the hand at her stomach, caked in dried blood, crusting around her fingers, her other had had a knuckle white grip on the edge of her pillow. He glances behind him, and notices the water basin on the low table, with some clean cloths next to it.

Hm.

“Persephone,” the lack of an honorific is still odd to him.

“Yes?”

“Would…would it be helpful if I got the…if I got the blood off of your hand? I c…I imagine that might be very painful for you.”

“Oh, Achilles, I don’t…you don’t have to go through the trouble of doing that for me…”

“I hate to be contrarian, but I want to.” A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quirk of the lips flashed across Persephone’s face at her words being echoed. “…I…I can’t do much but…but I can do this.”

Persephone considered it for a moment before nodding, “Yes…please.”

Achilles turned in the chair and rested the basin on the end table next to him. He reached out for Persephone’s hand, which she removed from her middle and rested in his hand. After dipping and wringing out the cloth, he gently, oh so gently, worked the blood off. He was grateful that the water in the basin appeared to be the clear, fresh stuff found in the fountain chambers; if he accidently washed her hand with the deep crimson water from the Styx, that would be sheer cruelty on the Fates’ part, like they haven’t been cruel enough already.

He thought back to when he found Briseis in their tent after…what happened, gently cleaning away the blood and dirt that clung to Patroclus’s face and body. He was so full of rage then, so full of heartbreak, that he didn’t appreciate the way her hands moved over him and revealed his skin under the carnage, how each movement of cloth was one of gentle reverence, a final act to preserve some of his better half’s dignity.

Achilles tried to mirror those actions now; his hold on her hand was secure, but not tight, never gripping. He moved the cloth in slow strokes to softly reveal cleanliness, not working it into the skin like one would remove a stubborn stain. Persephone was no stain. She was a woman, a woman who went through unearthly pain and heartbreak and needed help. He glanced at her; her breathing wasn’t as erratic, and the tension was eased from her shoulders a bit. Once he was done with her hand, Achilles craned up and ran the cloth along her cheeks and forehead, giving her curls the release they needed. Achilles slowly undid the grip Persephone had on her pillow, gently massaging her fingers, freeing them from the vise-like hold they had.

“That gentleness…” she muttered

“Pardon?”

“That gentleness you showed me some time ago, back in the garden, it’s returned. It comes so naturally to you, wanting to care for others.”

“I…”

Persephone tutted, “you do not see it; you insist on denying it, I see. I know what you went through in your mortal life, Achilles. I know that life was cruel to you and yours, that the world you lived in did not value gentleness at all. It tried to fight it out of you, but it couldn’t. Someone devoid of knowing what it means to care for someone wouldn’t comfort someone crying in their bed, let alone wash the hands clean of their blood. You are still gentle, Achilles, no one took that away from you. And…and while Zagreus won’t be able to experience it,” her voice went thick again, clearing her throat, “there will be people in this house, and this realm, that will. And will be all the better for it.”

“Persephone…My Queen you…you honor me. I…thank you,” Achilles breathed shakily, putting the basin and cloth back on the low table.

“Thank you, Achilles…I feel…I feel back in myself. I don’t…I…please don’t ask me to leave this…to leave here. I don’t think I can…I don’t know if I’m ready to…”

“I would never ask that of you, I don’t think anyone would, not after what you’ve gone through. If you wish, I can take my leave to give you some solitu—”

“No--! I…stay, please? I want…please just…please stay,” Persephone croaked, pleading in her eyes.

Achilles nodded, “I will stay, as long as you want.”

He stayed until Persephone’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened out, drifting to sleep. It was only when he rose from the chair to leave, that he realized he never let go of Persephone’s hand. Not once.

\--

She escaped from the Underworld three weeks after that, without a trace.

After she was discovered to be gone, Hades all but commanded the residents to never discuss their Queen ever again. To even utter her name would launch you straight to the depths of Tartarus, a thing Achilles unfortunately bore witness to, when a shade simply brought up how pretty her flower arrangements were. The garden was sealed off, its iron wrought gates barring anyone from entry. Any notion of nature and life were gone. It was as if Persephone never lived here to begin with.

Achilles hid his disgust behind a neutral expression, though the splinter grip on his spear uncovered how he felt. How dare he try to erase her memory, the one who brought some ounce of joy to this place. He wouldn’t speak aloud, but he would miss her dearly. Gone were the little respites of escorting her through the garden, or the idle chats they would have at his post. Persephone was one of the only people in the House that he felt comfortable around; for all her divine powers, Persephone was down to earth and easy-going, far removed from the ethereal benevolence of Nyx or the harsh authority that was Hades. She was the only one who took the time to remind him of his humanity, of the good parts of mortal life: the kindness, the encouragement, the calm joy that can come from a small conversation who saw you as a whole being, not just a prince of legend and history’s greatest fighter who was responsible for so much bloodshed.

The days or nights passed listlessly, after that. Each one was the same; guard the West Hall, return to his chambers. Repeat. If it wasn’t for the dedicated end of his shifts, Achilles feared he would meld into the wall, become a statue at his post and fuse with the stones like he heard some did within the dungeons of Tartarus.

“Master Achilles, do you have a moment?”

His gaze refocused (when did it glaze over) to find Nyx approaching him.

“Yes, of course, O Night. How may I assist you?” he asks with a bow, hoping she didn’t see the way was snapped out of his thoughts. Knowing her, she probably did.

“No assistance is necessary, I wanted to introduce you to someone. Please, follow me.”

Nyx waited for the briefest of moments before turning on her heel and gliding out of the hall. Achilles quickly followed, trailing behind Nyx as she turned a corner into a room, he remembers Persephone claiming it as her son’s that would be renovated. Why would Nyx take him in here? When they turned the corner, he found the room, once bare, was painted a deep midnight blue. Glints of gold and silver stars seemed to shimmer along the walls against the dark. There were plush chaise lounges and rugs and a chest of toys yet to be played with.

“Please mind your volume,” Nyx instructed.

Against one of the walls, was a crib that looked like its pillars were made of twilight, a swirling mobile of constellations hung above it. Achilles was almost afraid to approach the crib, as if this were some cruel trick by the Fates to mock the House of Hades with the loss of its Prince, even now. Slowly, he looked in the crib and-

It was a baby. It had the appearance of a baby who couldn’t have been more than a few months old if it were mortal. It had pink, soft – looking cheeks and a head of wispy, dark hair; little chubby hands lazily reached up to the mobile, and his equally chubby feet, glowing like embers, kicked restlessly. The most striking thing of all though, were its wide eyes – _his_ eyes – the right one was onyx dark with a ruby iris, the left, white with an iris as green as the first day of spring.

This was…this is…

“This is Zagreus,” Nyx said.

“I…I thought that he—”

“I was able to give him life, with enough attempts. He emerged already gone from this world, yes, but now he is here, with us.”

“That’s – that’s wonderful, O Night. Will…will someone alert—”

“I trust you know that discretion is of the utmost importance here, Master Achilles. I ask that you not share the news of the Prince’s arrival until we have received the go ahead from Lord Hades.” The look in Nyx’s eyes was steely. Through her words, Achilles understood her true meaning: _Don’t tell Persephone. Don’t tell anyone. Under no circumstances. No one knows where she is._

Achilles clears his throat, “y-yes, I understand completely, O Night.”

_I am so sorry, Persephone…_

Nyx reached into the crib and brought Zagreus into her arms, holding him close. Zagreus flashed a gummy smile and gurgled, reaching his little hand up, which Nyx took with a small laugh. For all her ethereality, she was still a mother through and through, and she looked at the baby with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Would you like to hold him, Master Achilles?”

“I—I don’t know if I should…”

“It is your choice, of course, but perhaps it would be beneficial to get acquainted. You are to train him in arms, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Though he is a babe and won’t partake in your teachings for quite some time, it is important for young Zagreus to know he can trust you.”

“You…yes, yes you’re right. I would be honored to hold the young Prince.”

Though he let it go before, it still felt odd to not have a spear in his hand. It hand felt almost too light for his body, used to the weight of a bronze weapon as his friend. After flexing his hand, he held as still as a statue while Nyx slowly and gently deposited Zagreus in his arms.

“Mind his head, Achilles,” she reminded him.

Little Zagreus was so _warm_. Holding him was like holding a sunbeam, like holding life, the very concept of it, the notion of it, burning and bright, ever present in his kicking little smoldering feet. This child was life itself in a realm of death, was warmth and comfort in a land of cold harshness. Zagreus stared at Achilles, his big eyes regarding him curiously.

“Hello la—hello, young prince.”

Zagreus cooed and smiled a toothless, sleepy grin.

“Oh…” he breathed.

“You’re doing exceptionally well,” Nyx said.

“Ah, this is the first time I’ve ever held a baby if you can believe it. Child rearing was not one of my responsibilities in battle.”

“Though it may be your first time, you are already proving to be a fine mentor. Look,” Nyx gestured her head to Zagreus. Achilles glanced down and found him peacefully, soundly asleep, his little fists holding the fabric of his cloak tightly.

“He already feels safe with you,” Nyx said.

“I…I guess he does.”

“It’s your gentle nature, he feels it.”

“I…I suppose it is,” he says, embracing it this time. “I won’t let him down, I will ensure that he is always safe with me,” Achilles said more to the sleeping Zagreus than to Nyx.

“I know you will, and you will succeed. He will do great things under your tutelage, he will learn not just to be a fine fighter, but a fine person, as well.” Nyx said these words with a calm certainty, as if she saw the lives of Achilles and Zagreus play out directly before her.

“You’re right, he will. I will do my best for him, I swear it,” he said through a voice that trembled ever so.

Achilles looked down at Zagreus once more, sleeping soundly, and felt something he hadn’t felt in millennia: he had a reason to live again. He has someone he needs to look out for, someone to care for and teach. He has someone so full of goodness and warmth and life that he has to preserve. Someone will have to remind him that his goodness is important, that kindness is important, that gentleness is important, too important to abandon. Achilles will be there to remind him of the power of compassion and care in a world that promotes the opposite.

_I will do everything in my power to protect his child. For her. For the both of you_ , he vows.


End file.
